


The Canine Conundrum

by Mina Lightstar (ukefied)



Category: Dark Angel, Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fusion, Case Fic, Gen, M/M, Twincest, jam_pony_fic summerfest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-25
Updated: 2012-08-25
Packaged: 2017-11-10 17:00:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,895
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/468605
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ukefied/pseuds/Mina%20Lightstar
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Prompt: DA/SPN, Sam/Dean (wincest or not) Alec/Ben (twincest or not) -- Sam and Dean are the transgenic brothers while twins Alec/Ben are the hunters.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> For Reasons, both shows timelines are minutely tweaked. For characterization notes, I tried to think of how they would have grown up without Manticore. I figured Ben would end up more serious (he just wanted to be a good soldier) and Alec would grow up the rowdy one.
> 
> Rated for mild gore and twins gettin' it on. Please note that summerfest fics are not beta-read!

Ben McDowell’s got his back to the wall. The world has narrowed to the knife in his hand and the Wendigo coming at him. A few more seconds. He tightens his grip on the hilt, braces himself. A few more seconds.

The Wendigo’s gangly frame goes up in flames. Ben shields his eyes as the cavern’s darkness is illuminated by bright fire. The Wendigo shrieks — twists and convulses upon the ground. Ben doesn’t dare move until it burns out of existence.

Alec comes scampering out of hiding to kick at the ashes. “Ha- _ha,_ ” he laughs, twirling the flare gun ‘round his finger. “Wendi- _gone!_ ”

Ben rolls his eyes. “What took you so long?” He sheathes the knife in his jacket and watches Alec stumble toward him, still favoring his wounded arm.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” his twin remarks with heavy sarcasm. “Was my timely rescue not to your liking? Maybe next time I’ll let the monster take a few bites out of you before I—”

Ben shuts him up with a kiss, turning them around and shoving his brother against the wall. He tries not to jostle the bad arm but Alec grunts in pain anyway. The flare gun clatters to the ground.

“It took a few bites out of _you,_ ” Ben gasps, coming up for air. He inspects Alec’s left arm closely. His jacket and shirt are ripped along the bicep and he’s still bleeding, but it could have been worse. “I think you need stitches.”

“Probably,” Alec groans. Ben smiles; Alec hates getting sewn up, so if he’s well enough to be complaining about it, it can’t be that bad.

“Don’t do that again,” Ben says. He kisses Alec again — a quick firm one right on the lips. “Never again.”

“Never what?” Alec muses, good arm snaking around Ben’s neck to keep him close. “Never get jumped by the enraged supernatural? I’ll do my best,” he assures, suave despite Ben’s glare, “but you might need to talk to _them_ about it.”

Ben bends over to pick up the flare gun. “Come on, dork. Let’s get you patched up and get out of here.” He starts heading for the old mine’s exit.

Alec falls into step behind him. “Worst part about gigs in ghost towns,” he says, “is that there are even fewer people grateful for what we did.”

Ben shakes his head ruefully. “You know many people who’d give us a hero’s welcome?”

“Don’t need a hero’s welcome,” Alec replies. “A home-cooked meal would be nice, though.”

“Can’t help with that,” Ben regrets. “But I might be able to get you the next best thing in Baker City.”

The sun hurts his eyes, so he has to wait a few minutes before tackling the first-aid kit. They lean against the hood of the Impala while Ben inspects the nastier of Alec’s cuts. In the daylight, they don’t look as bad. Actually, Alec doesn’t end up needing stitches after all, much to both of their relief. He still whines and moans throughout the entire process, of course. Ben dabs at the cuts a little harder than necessary, and maybe uses a little more alcohol than is needed.

“Sadist,” Alec accuses in an exaggerated hiss, trying to pull away.

“Baby,” Ben retorts, tightening his grip.

Finally, Alec’s arm is wrapped and Ben bundles him in the passenger seat. The Impala roars to life and Ben shifts her into gear, and then they leave Granite, Oregon behind.

***

In Baker City, Ben lets Alec hole up in the motel room while he heads to the nearest diner. He brings back hamburger steak drowned in gravy and a six-pack, and finds Alec hanging up his cellphone when he walks through the door. Ben doesn’t ask until the food’s laid out and Alec has been surfing the Internet for five minutes.

“Come and eat.” Ben gestures to the styrofoam containers. “Who was that?”

“Ruby,” Alec replies simply, dropping into his chair and digging in.

“Whoa,” Ben says, fork halfway to his lips. “Wait, _Ruby?_ What did she want?” They haven’t heard from Ruby in weeks. She tends to lie low these days; betraying Lucifer’s master plan for a couple of hunters didn’t win her any popularity contests down below.

“She has a hunt for us, not far from here.” Alec looks pleased, smiling with puffed-out cheeks.

“Chew your food,” Ben scolds automatically. “She doing okay?” Ruby used to shoot them clues about supernatural issues she came across, back when she was helping them protect the seals. Ben just figured the heads-up — and the alliance — would stop after Lucifer was caged.

Alec shrugs. “She’s carving a life out for herself, she says. Was gonna settle down around here but the fries suck.” He gestures vaguely to the laptop on the bed. “She was in La Grande, not too far from here. Heard about a series of maulings in town — almost like a rabid dog, locals are saying. Except the injuries are way more severe.”

Ben taps his plastic fork against his container. “Could be something for us.”

“Ruby wouldn’t have called if she wasn’t sure.”

“She gonna help us take it down?”

Alec snorts. “Yeah, right. She’s an information broker now, not a goon. She’s probably as far from La Grande as that sissy little car of hers can take her.”

“Hm.” Ben shakes his head. “I guess she’s earned her retirement. Hey, did she say anything about Heaven?”

“Nada. I guess she can’t get in until Cas gets elected, or whatever, and pulls some strings.”

“Red tape,” Ben mutters. “That’s bureaucracy for you. Okay, so tomorrow we hit La Grande and see what’s what?”

Alec nods, still shoveling food into his mouth. “Bet it’s a chupacabra.”

“Bet it’s a black dog,” Ben counters. He presses his styrofoam container closed and chugs the rest of his beer. “You wanna watch TV?”

“No,” Alec says pointedly, and there’s a familiar twinkle in his eye.

***

La Grande isn’t even an hour away, but they’re due to gas up anyway. Ben hands over a few bills to the cashier, trying not to wince. These days especially, keeping the Impala’s tank full requires the bulk of their meagre, ill-gotten funds. Alec used to have a Duke he loved more than Ben loved the Impala, but it wasn’t long before they couldn’t afford both vehicles.

“Gonna have to hustle pool soon,” Ben says, sliding into the driver’s seat.

Alec grunts, poking at his bandaged arm. “Soon no one’ll be willing to play for money anymore. It’s hard enough to make a living as a civilian, never mind a hunter.” He sighs as the engine turns over, and rests his head on the window. “Sometimes I wonder how this future is any better than the one Zachariah showed us.”

Ben thinks about it, tapping his fingers against the wheel. “This is one we’ve made for ourselves,” he finally replies.

Alec doesn’t answer. Ben pulls back onto the highway.

***

La Grande is a small, quiet sort of town. It has a hospital and a university and grumpy old men who play chess outside diners.

“The _government_ should so something,” old man Erikson is saying. He is actually shaking his cane for emphasis; Ben and Alec are trying not to laugh in his face. “These immigrants just waltz in here, expecting to settle down and take all our money, and let their rabid pets run wild and eat our children’s faces.”

“Forget the government!” old man Jacobs scoffs. “Government couldn’t even manage to keep their lights on a couple years back. Just let someone walk in and shut the whole country’s power off, they did. They sure as hell don’t care about animals running amok over here.”

Ben shares an uneasy glance with Alec. In 2009, their final round with Lucifer had the unfortunate side effect of effectively shutting down the United States. Nowadays, most people blamed the chaos and ensuing economic depression on a cyber-terrorist attack. Ben supposes that’s easier to swallow than “Heaven and Hell threw down in the lower forty-eight and broke all the computers, for some reason.”

“You stay away from that Pioneer Park,” Erikson snaps at them, startling them both. “My grand-nephew says he’s been hearin’ strange sounds comin’ outta there at night.”

“Yer grand-nephew’s bloody drunk all the time,” Jacobs retorts.

“Well, thanks for your help,” Alec says over their arguing, edging away. “It was nice talking to you.”

“Have a nice day,” Ben adds, and they make a hasty retreat.

Once they’re out of earshot, Alec gives Ben a look. “They think immigrant dogs are eating people’s faces?”

Ben rolls his eyes and tries not to laugh. “Only when the immigrant dogs aren’t shooting all the jobs. Come on, let’s get a room and check out this Pioneer Park tonight.”

***

To say one thing for the Pulse, as people called it: it certainly made being a hunter easier. By the time Lucifer’s death knell Y2K’d the country, Ben and Alec had already racked up a sizeable stack of fake IDs and credit cards. In more than one town, they’d made enemies of the local finest. In a post-Pulse world, all of these records were erased and Ben and his twin were free men in every state once again. It had been a good moment for hunters — and not just because they trapped the Morning Star in a cage and locked the doors to Hell.

So Ben and Alec have no trouble checking into their hotel under the names Hector and James Thibodeau.

“Why do we have English names if we’re French?” Ben wonders, sitting on his bed.

“Our dad’s French,” Alec explains, plopping down on the other bed. “Mom took his name because she thought it was cool.”

“Hmm.” Ben toes his boots off and starts stripping down. “Nap before tonight?”

“Sounds good,” Alec says around a yawn. He takes his clothes off more gingerly, watching his arm. He stretches out, taking the entire bed, and is asleep in minutes.

Ben rolls his eyes and sets his phone’s alarm. They get single beds because there is no way for them to pass as boyfriends. Of course, they come in handy whenever they want either their own space or, in this case, they feel like sprawling across the mattress and taking no prisoners.

Midway through his nap, Ben has to surrender half his bed to Alec, who crawls in complaining about his arm and wraps himself around Ben without asking. Ben sighs and arranges their limbs more comfortably, convinced for the umpteenth time that Alec would crash and burn without him.

***

Pioneer Park looks just like any other park they’ve been to, _ever._ Ben doesn’t see what’s so pioneer about it, but at least it’s deserted at the moment, leaving him and Alec more than enough peace and quiet to work. They inch along the grass, weapons ready. Ben favors one of their staples, the knife they got from Ruby. Alec prefers the Colt, a demon-killing pistol designed by Samuel Colt himself and perfected by Ruby.

Really, Ruby should start a new life as an arms dealer.

“This park sucks,” Alec declares. “There aren’t even any slides.”

“Maybe those seniors were just blowing hot air,” Ben suggests. “They seemed pretty unhappy with the world at large.”

“Seriously,” Alec says. “ _Immigrant dogs._ ”

Somewhere in the distance, a man screams. It’s a desperate, petrified sound. Ben and Alec are already moving. The next scream is blood-curdling. They run faster, as fast as they can, over the grassy knolls and toward a cluster of trees. The screams get louder, more inhuman — and stop.

Ben runs into the trees, Alec on his heels. Ben ends up stopping short, skidding to a halt. Alec bumps into him and mutters something unsavory, but Ben barely hears it.

The bloodied corpse on the ground is shocking enough. Ben registers the disembowelment, the entrails scattered across the grass, and the gaping hole in the body’s chest cavity. But what really gets Ben’s attention are the two figures standing over the corpse, inspecting it closely — a little too closely.

“Hey!” he snaps, brandishing Ruby’s knife.

He startles them out of their reverie. They straighten, wiping red fingers on their jeans, and Ben’s jaw drops. Behind him, Alec breathes, “What the fucking hell…?”

One of the two strangers is really tall — taller than them. He has floppy hair and dopey brown eyes and is _huge._ It’s the other guy Ben’s staring at, though. The other guy has _his face._ His and Alec’s face.

And he looks as confused as Ben and Alec do. “What the fuck is this?” he asks in a rough voice.

Alec clicks the safety off and levels the Colt at him. “Should be asking you.”

“It’s not what it looks like,” their doppelganger starts, but his parter is already reacting.

Ben turns as Alec flies across the clearing. His twin hits a tree with a shout, dropping the Colt and landing in a heap on the ground. Ben holds his ground. He has to suppress the urge to attack them or rush to Alec’s side.

“Sam!” not-Ben snaps, glaring at his companion.

“Don’t touch him!” the floppy-haired one — Sam — yells. He still has his arm raised from doing … whatever it was that sent Alec flying. He makes a fist, arm quivering. To Ben’s horror, Alec starts to gag.

“Alec!” he cries, torn. He decides to go for the source.

“Sam!” his double is saying, frantic. “Sam, stop it!”

Ben moves with adrenaline-fueled speed, but his mirror image is even faster. He shoves Sam aside and twists out of the way. At least Sam is distracted now, loosening his hold on Alec. He can hear his twin gasping for air.

Ben keeps his eyes on their doppelganger. It’s harder than it sounds. The double moves so fast, he blurs in and our of existence. Ben tightens his grip on the knife, following his movements. Watching — waiting. When not-Ben comes in for the kill, he’s ready.

Ruby’s knife strikes true — but that’s it. Not-Ben hisses in pain, turns back around and gets Ben with a mean right-cross. Ben hits the ground with a grunt. _Not supernatural,_ he realizes. These two — whatever they are — aren’t supernatural.

“S-stop!” he manages, raising one arm in surrender. He pushes himself to a sitting position and waves at Alec. “Stop! Everyone, knock it off!”

Alec relaxes a little, the Colt at half-mast. He doesn’t look pleased, but is clearly waiting for an explanation. Sam is … Ben looks for him, finds him, and can only stare.

The huge telekinetic is a shaking lump on the ground. At first, Ben thinks Alec’s gun went off, but a quick glance at his twin determines this isn’t the case. Even as they stare, uncertain, not-Ben is rushing over. He ignores the slash along his own forearm, gathering the larger man in his arms and trying to dig through his pocket at the same time.

“Hang on, Sammy,” he’s babbling. “Hey, relax — don’t worry, I gotcha. Just stay still, Sammy, okay? Almost got it…”

“What’s wrong with him?” Ben asks, still on the ground. He wants to help, but is afraid of making any sudden moves on these two.

“Stay _away_ from us,” not-Ben snaps, not even bothering with a glance. “We didn’t kill anyone.”

Alec snarls, “Then your friend shouldn’t have attacked us first.”

“Alec,” Ben admonishes gently. Then to their double, “Hey, does he need some help? What’s your name?”

The doppelganger produces a pill bottle and fumbles it open with one hand. Pillowing his convulsing friend against his chest, he shakes a few capsules into his palm and forces them down Sam’s throat. He cradles the larger man, rocking him gently back and forth, obviously waiting for the pills to take effect.

He looks at Ben then — with old, weary eyes. “Dean,” he says finally. “My name’s Dean.” He pauses, and then gives Alec and tight, humorless smile. “And you have _no idea._ ”

Ben raises a hand to forestall Alec’s sass. “Okay, look: we’re putting our weapons away now. Is that cool? Are we cool?”

“Uh, totally not cool,” his brother quips.

“ _Alec._ ”

“Fine, fine.”

“Whatever,” Dean says. “Just — whatever, all right? Leave us alone; we didn’t hurt anyone.” He runs a hand through Sam’s hair. The larger man’s shakes have started to subside.

Ben exchanges a look with his twin. “Maybe not, but I hurt you. Will you let me patch that up?”

Dean looks at him blankly, and then glances down at his arm. “Oh. Don’t worry about it.”

Ben frowns. “I really think—”

Sam gasps, jerking in Dean’s grip. Dean holds him tighter, like he’s afraid to let him go. “It’s not here anymore,” Sam manages through clenched teeth. “It’s gone. It got away.”

“It’s fine, Sammy, it’s fine.” Dean sounds brokenly relieved, as though he’d been the one having the seizure. “Don’t worry about it.”

And that about hits Ben’s weirdness quota for the day. “Okay, guys,” he says, standing up. He makes a show about leisurely brushing himself off; further establishing the fact that he and Alec aren’t threats. “Why don’t we talk this over while I take care of Dean’s cut, huh?”

“Yeah,” Alec agrees. He folds his arms and gives the strange men a measuring look. “I really want to know about the one that got away.”

 

TBC


	2. Chapter Two

Alec sums it up best: “Manticore was fucked up, man.”

Sam and Dean exchange dubious glances. “That’s one way of putting it,” the latter replies.

Ben occupies himself with clearing away the styrofoam take-out containers and empty soda cans. Their whole story is crazy. Escaped transgenic super-soldiers from Seattle? If Ben wasn’t a hunter of equally unbelievable quarry he’d have laughed in their faces. “That doesn’t explain everything, though,” he points out, chucking the garbage. He fixes his gaze on Dean. “Why do you have our face?”

Dean appears to be at a loss. His shoulders lift in a helpless shrug. “Sorry. I don’t know. I’m guessing no one you know ever had anything to do with Manticore?”

Ben shakes his head. “If they did, it was a hell of a job not telling me.” If Mom was still around, maybe…

Alec leans over the back of the chair he’s straddling. “So if you’re genetically-engineered badasses, why are you roaming around small town parks inspecting homicides? You could be bodyguards or something.”

Sam drops his gaze and starts picking at his worn jeans. “It’s not that simple,” he mutters.

Alec blinks. “Why not? With all the records erased, no one would know what you are.”

“Manticore’s always on the prowl,” Dean explains, fiddling with the bandage on his arm. “Always looking for their lost property. We don’t know what they do to transgenics they do find. Don’t wanna know.”

Ben nods. “Okay, so you’re on the run. Not so different from hunters, then. What about your little investigation? What brought you to La Grande?”

“Sometimes,” Sam starts, and hesitates. “Sometimes, depending on the … augmentation … the transgenic can get confused. Scared. Lost in themselves.”

“Like you?” Ben hazards.

Dean’s halfway out of his chair before Sam grabs his arm. “It’s fine.” He holds Dean until his brother sits back down. “Yeah, like me. There’s something,” he gestures vaguely through a frown, “with my head. Sometimes I, I _see things_. Sense things.” His eyes flicker to Alec. “Move things.”

“Choke things,” Alec supplies.

“ _Alec,_ ” Ben growls a warning.

“I’m not letting them take Sam back,” Dean insists. “I don’t care how far we have to run.”

Ben glances at Alec. “Not that we’re in any position to judge, leaping right into the action and all, but if you want to stay out of sight and live your lives quietly, maybe poking your heads around a supernatural homicide is a bad idea.”

Dean snorts. “We didn’t know it was ‘supernatural.’ We thought it was one of ours. An X5 — or maybe an X7, who knows? Sammy got the vision during one of his seizures, and we had to check it out. Make them stop, if it was a transgenic.”

“We have to tell them they aren’t in Manticore anymore,” Sam goes on. “Tell them they’re free to live their own lives, but within society’s rules. They can’t be attracting any attention to themselves. Otherwise people might start looking for the rest of us. It’s hard enough to hide the barcodes and our abilities.”

Alec chews the corner of his bottom lip. “So you came all the way here to help one of your own learn to keep the peace.”

“Is it so hard to believe?” Dean asks, defensively. “Makes way more sense than _ghosts_ murdering people.”

“Okay,” Ben cuts in before they get into a _my weird is weirder than your weird_ argument. “At this point, it could be either one. All we saw was the mutilated corpse.”

“We can rule out bears,” Alec quips. “So that leaves a pack of seriously pissed-off squirrels, a chupacabra, or a super-soldier.”

“What do you want to do?” Ben asks the transgenics. “You’d probably be better off staying with us. Not that this doesn’t look weird; four strangers wandering into town in the middle of a spree killing isn’t ideal.”

Dean looks over at Sam, curled in on himself and looking too large for the chair. “I’m not sure that’s such a good idea. We don’t play well with others.”

“Is it because of Sam?” Alec wants to know. He doesn’t flinch under Dean’s stare. “You know, because of his seizures?”

As if on cue, Sam’s form starts to quiver. Ben takes half a step toward them, unsure of how to help. Alec scrambles out of his chair, looking guilty. Dean ignores both of them, gathering Sam into his arms and lowering them to the floor. The larger transgenic’s shakes turn into convulsions, and Dean reaches for his jacket with his good hand, trying to hold his brother with the wounded one.

“Watch your arm,” Ben orders. He moves for the coat himself, rifling through the pockets for the pill bottle. “How many?”

“Three.” Dean holds out his hand and Ben shakes three tablets into his palm.

Ben and Alec hover awkwardly while Dean smoothes Sam’s hair back, coaxes the pills into him, and murmurs assurances. Gradually, Sam’s seizure subsides. Dean keeps petting him, keeps mumbling about how they’re going to be okay.

“Sorry,” Alec ventures after a minute. “Did I do that?”

Dean shakes his head. “He’s always a little more susceptible after a vision.”

“You’re almost out,” Ben observes, rattling the bottle. “Do you have more stashed somewhere?”

A mournful expression ghosts across Dean’s face before he schools it into neutrality. “No. Gonna have to raid a pharmacy or supplement store or something.”

“We could help with that,” Alec offers. Ben glances at him. “What? I feel bad. We’ll head out and find some more. You can stay here with him.”

Dean considers them, one hand still stroking Sam’s head. “We can’t be owing anyone anything,” he whispers.

“Don’t worry about it,” Alec insists, waving the concern away. “Hunters, transgenics … what’s the difference? We’re all outcasts, anyway. Gotta look out for each other, right?”

Sam shifts in Dean’s embrace, unfolding enough to stare at them with wide hazel eyes. “If the murderer is a transgenic, you can’t kill it. You have to let us talk to it.”

Ben sets the pills on the table and grabs his jacket. “If you want to talk to the murderer, you’re gonna have to come with us to find it.”

“We don’t deliver,” Alec adds.

Dean actually quirks a grin at that one. “Fine. You, uh, you want me to write down what kind of tryptophan to get?”

“Got it already,” Ben says, hefting his phone. “I’ll go get the meds. Be back soon.”

He makes it to the car before Alec slips out of their room. “Hey,” his twin calls, “you need me to run interference or anything?”

Ben checks his watch. Ten-to-six; by the time he makes it to the Walmart, it should be open. “Nah, should be fine. I think we have enough cash to cover a couple bottles of the stuff, anyway.”

“Didn’t mean to spend all our money,” Alec apologizes, looking contrite as he walks over to the car. “I just, I dunno — Ben, one of ‘em has _our face._ ”

“I know.” Ben looks around. The parking lot is deserted, so he pulls his twin close. “Manticore has a lot to answer for, however that happened. But you did good. What if something happened to them while they were out and about? Like you said, Dean looks just like us.”

“Our lives are complicated enough as it is,” Alec agrees, lips ghosting over Ben’s neck.

Ben makes an appreciative noise but reluctantly pulls back. “Go wait with them. I’ll be back soon, and we can start planning our next step.”

Alec nods. “I still think it’s a chupacabra, not a transgenic. The attacks were just so savage.”

Ben leans forward and steals a kiss. “You’re both wrong; it’s a black dog.”

***

When Ben wakes up in the evening, he finds himself in a tableau of surrealism. He’s got Alec curled around him in one bed, a telekinetic moose in the other bed, and their clone sleeping on the floor.

“This is so fucked up,” he mutters, rubbing at his face.

Alec snuffles and snuggles closer. Ben gives him a pat, but then moves away to head for the bathroom. He steps over Dean on the way, but the transgenic only presses his face further into the pile of coats passing as his bed. Sam sleeps on, looking more peaceful than he does when he’s awake. Four bottles of brown pills sit on his nightstand.

When Ben comes out of the shower, the entire room is waiting for him. “I take it we’re ready to go hunting?” he muses, flicking wet bangs out of his eyes.

“Ready and willing,” Alec affirms, twirling the Colt around his finger.

Sam’s hulking form comes closer, towering over Ben and his twin. “No hunting,” the huge transgenic reminds them. “Just talking first.”

“Sure.” Alec is unintimidated by Sam’s size. “So long as it isn’t a monster.”

“People call transgenics monsters,” Dean says quietly from behind them.

The abrupt silence in the room is tangible. Alec breaks it with a snort. “Most people would shit themselves if they knew what a _real_ monster looks like.” He makes a show of assessing Sam. “You’re no monster, buddy.”

Sam shuffles his feet, staring at the carpet. “Thanks,” he says softly, sounding genuinely grateful.

“Actually,” Alec prattles on, “you let me up on your shoulders? We could kick any tree’s _ass._ ” He looks over his shoulder in Dean’s general direction. “And you’re just too gorgeous to be a monster.”

Ben shoves his twin toward the door. “We can organize a playdate later. Let’s take care of the serial killer first. Try not to trip over your ego on the way out.”

***

The plan is this: stake out Pioneer Park’s wooded area with one man at each corner. By loitering alone, posing as easy prey, they hope to lure the … well, whatever if is, into the open. Naturally, this is the night the murderer decides to take its sweet time. This means they’re spending more time arguing over the phone than anything else.

 _“I told you,”_ Alec is saying, _“I didn’t change the presets on the Impala to sugarpop country.”_

“Well, _somebody did_ , Alec, and I know it wasn’t me!”

_“You’ve gone senile. I knew it would happen someday, big brother.”_

Ben pinches the bridge of his nose and sighs. “Still nothing?”

 _“Nada. Sam and Dean haven’t called, either.”_ A pause. Ben pictures Alec scuffing his boot on the grass. _“Maybe tonight’s the night it changes parks.”_

“That would be our luck.”

And then Sam screams.

Ben nearly drops his phone, it’s so loud. He hangs up in the middle of Alec’s _“He’s gonna—!”_ and starts running, before Sam brings the entire town upon them.

“Sam!” he shouts. “Sam, hang on, we’re coming!”

He crashes through the undergrowth, brandishing Ruby’s knife, looking left and right for something, anything.

He finds Sam on his knees at his post, shaking like a leaf and trying to jam tryptophan in his mouth.

“Dean,” he tries to get around the capsules. “I saw Dean!”

Ben’s next to him in an instant, helping get the pills down. “Easy, easy. What about Dean?”

“Sammy!”

Speak of the devil … Dean appears a moment later, looking frantic. Ben can see the relief literally flood his face when he sees Sam is okay.

“Dean,” Sam mumbles, bobbing back and forth on his heels. “Deandeandean.”

“What?” Dean asks, taking Ben’s place and pulling Sam into a hug. “What’d you see?”

Sam whispers, “You. Saw a — a dark shape. It was, it was…” He runs his hands down Dean’s back, as though making sure all of him is still there.

“Gotta be a mistake, Sammy,” Dean reassures him. “Nothing got me.”

“Sam,” Ben draws their attention. “Are you sure it’s Dean you saw?”

The transgenic blinks at him. “Uh, it’s hard to tell. The visions aren’t always clear. But it looked like…” he trails off, realization dawning on his face.

Ben’s blood runs cold. “Where’s Alec?”

In the distance, he hears the Colt go off. He’s running before Sam and Dean even scramble to their feet.

***

Ben covers ground faster than he ever thought he could. He’s panting so hard, blood pumping in his ears, that he almost doesn’t hear Alec’s warning.

“White cat!” his twin is yelling. His voice sounds pained. “It’s the white cat!”

Ben skids to a stop at the next clearing. A quick scan of the area finds Alec slumped against a red maple. One hand is lying at his side, the Colt held in a loose grip. His other hand is pressed under his coat.

“You’re hurt,” Ben observes. His gut twists into a knot. It’s only bone-deep training that keeps him from dropping his guard and going to his twin.

“Pay attention,” Alec orders through grit teeth. “I didn’t hit it. Didn’t even graze it; motherfucker’s fast.”

Ben inches his way forward. He turns in a slow circle, waiting. “Sam and Dean are moving into a pincer position.” He doesn’t know how he knows that, only that he’s sure they are.

“It’s still here,” Alec says. “I pissed it off. It wants to eat my face.”

“I don’t blame it,” Ben replies.

“You were right,” Alec says, after an uneventful moment ticks by. “It’s a black dog.”

Ben glances at him reflexively, but quickly looks back at the trees. “You said it was a white cat.”

“Yeah. A little white cat. A _huge_ black dog.”

Ben licks his lips nervously. “Barghest.”

And because he just keeps asking for trouble, that’s when the air behind him shifts.

“Ben!” Alec cries.

He’s already moving, spinning around and raising the knife. It may as well have been a butter knife. The barghest slams right into him, knocking the knife out of his hands. He hits the ground on his back. His arms are up before he realizes it, elbow jabbing into the beast’s mouth to keep its jaws from closing around his neck.

“Get away from him!” Alec shouts, and Ben knows he’s trying to push himself up and take aim.

But then Dean’s there, grabbing the barghest around the neck and hauling it away like it doesn’t weigh three hundred pounds. Ben sits up, pain flaring from his elbow. Sam appears next, eyes dark with concentration. He raises a hand toward the beast thrashing in Dean’s arms.

It goes very still.

Ben gapes. “What—?”

“Hurry,” Sam pleads.

“What he said,” Dean adds, still hanging on.

Ben scrambles to his feet, catching the Colt when Alec tosses it his way. Sam and Dean have the barghest trussed up like a trophy, waiting for the kill shot. Ben keeps the run cocked, just in case, but opts for the quieter weapon and grabs his knife off the ground.

“Not a transgenic?” Ben checks in, just to make sure everybody’s on the same page.

Their transgenic friends nod. Ben flexes his grip on the knife and stabs. It plunges deep into the barghest’s fur, deep into its flesh, electrifying all the way. Under Sam’s spell, it can’t even cry out.

Slowly, Dean and Ben step away. The barghest is a dried-out husk of its former self. When Sam releases it, it scatters to dust, leaving behind the shredded corpse of its white cat disguise.

Dean pokes at the mess with his foot. “Whoa. At least no one’ll know what went down here.”

“Nah,” Alec says from behind them. “Now we just look like a bunch of cat mutilators. Let’s get out of here.”

***

Back at the motel, they patch up Alec first. He has a shallow but painful wound ripped into his right side to match the still-healing gash on his arm. It doesn’t look so bad once it’s cleaned up, but once it’s bandaged Ben kisses the fevered flesh around the wound.

“Twice in a week, Alec,” he whispers. When he sits up, he glimpses the bloodied t-shirt and his breath catches.

“Ben,” Alec sighs. “I’m a hunter; it’s gonna happen.” When Ben opens his mouth, Alec claps a hand over it. “It’s _gonna happen._ But I’m not going anywhere. Promise.”

It’s somehow the perfect thing to say. Ben forgets himself, wrapping his arms around Alec as gently as possible. Then he kisses his twin, a slow romantic dance that would have become something else had Sam not pointedly cleared his throat.

“Gotta patch up Ben’s arm,” the telekinetic explains.

“Oh, er, sorry.” Ben holds out the wounded limb and lets Sam work. “I’m glad it wasn’t a transgenic today. “I’m glad it wasn’t that sort of situation.”

Sam’s eyes flicker toward Dean’s. “Us, too.”

When Ben gets his arm back, he wraps it around Alec once again. “We made a good team.” Alec squeezes him encouragingly, and Ben adds, “You should join us. You’ve got a real knack for the hunting business.”

“Not to mention badass skills any hunter would wish for,” Alec jumps it, really selling it.

Sam laughs, if a little unsteadily. Dean shakes his head in disbelief. “You think so?”

“Maybe we could help you find a way to help Sam,” Ben brainstorms. “See if there’s something that can be done to stop the seizures forever.”

“Come on,” Alec urges, bounding in Ben’s arms. “We could be the McDowell triplets!”

“Sure,” Dean agrees with a quirk of his lips. He gestures vaguely at their embrace. “So long as I don’t have to get in on this.”

“Aw,” Alec pouts, even as Ben tightens his grip and says, “I don’t share.”

Sam reaches over to touch Dean’s shoulder. “Don’t you want to know why the three of you look alike?”

Ben catches Dean’s eye. “That question’s crossed my mind.”

Dean considers both of them, staring at their faces — at the one face they all share.

“So you’ll consider it?” Alec presses after a moment. “Plenty of room in the Impala.”

Sam exchanges a look with Dean, and then smiles at them. “We’ll tag along with you until the next town, at least.”

It turns out to be much longer than that.


End file.
